Summary: The discovery of a deep-cover covert
operation doing the Government's dirty work
in plain sight under the guise of environmental
activism and charity projects... And many
other discoveries along the way.
Disclaimer: All X-Files characters and
references are property of C. Carter and Company,
Morgan & Wong, 10-13 Productions and FOX. The
British chick's mine.

Thrown Back - 5/18

4:35 A.M.

"And stop callin' me 'silly,'" Langly protested,
bumping her left leg with his right, from
underneath.

She giggled again, so he bumped her again, and
she said, "It's just an expression, sil--."

"So. It's buggin' me."

"My, aren't we sensitive."

"Yeah, that's me. You'd be too, if you've
been through what I have."

"So, tell me, then. What have you been through?"

"Hell--booyah"

"Define 'hell.'" She winked at him in the
overhead mirror, and, although lying prone,
he went weak in the knees.

His voice was stiffer and more toneless when
he said, "My dad beat me everyday, whether
I deserved to get whammed or not. My mom
tried to get him to lay off beatin' the tar
outta my brother Jonah and me, but when the
old man felt like it, he'd give her her lumps
too." Langly stopped, and Margot wasn't sure
he would continue, but she didn't press. Not
now. "When he wasn't beatin' us black and
blue, he'd use that poison tongue of his and
call us things you wouldn't call a mangy dog.
He was shit as a parental unit."

"Poorest lamb," Margot said, stroking, in a
two-fold sense now.

The pause intervened with neither of them
saying anything, until Langly decided to break
the silence, and when he did, he sounded close
to tears. "The bastard beat her to death one
night. He'd gone into town, came back stinkin'
drunk. The stupid fuck. He was charged with
murder, he's still in the state pen., rotting.
I've never stopped wanting to kill him. We
lost our farm, and my brother and me were sent
to the county orphanage. Jonah got adopted by
the bastard's relatives in Massachusetts. I
didn't, though. They didn't want me--said I
was a 'behavior problem.' Too much for them
to handle. Compared to what? Their damn son?"
But then Langly sighed, and it seemed to take
his breath away. "Nobody wanted me." His lower
lip quivered, but he put a quick end to that,
grinding his central teeth into it.

"How dreadful. You never got adopted?"

"Not right away, not until I was thirteen;
two years later. No big deal."

The arm she'd been stroking, she squeezed, and
held onto it. Her hand crept to his and she
massaged his thumb's cuticle with the soft
fleshly pad of hers. The knot in his stomach
loosened a fraction. "Life's a right kick in
the bum sometimes, isn't it?"

"Pain in the damn ass. Anyway... I...I really
turned out to be a product of the system. When
the first family who got stuck with me finally
came along, they just started a stupid chain
reaction of me bein' shuttled from one farm
family, to another all over Nebraska.

"When I turned seventeen, and several trial
families later, I figured I was old enough to
take care of myself, sorta, so I made a bid
for being granted legal emancipation, and,
surprise, the enlightened bureaucrats back
then let me have it. I was a difficult child,
and they figured I'd sponged long enough."

"If this is too hard, you don't have to go
on."

Langly shook his head against the fluffy pillow.
"I'm okay. It kinda feels good talkin' about
all this crap, after so long."

"I know the feeling."

"Yeah?"

"I'll explain later. Go on, don't stop, if
it makes you feel better."

"So there I was, seventeen, and I was my own
man." His voice failed him for a few moments
as several more unhappy memories flooded his
mind.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine. So...I'm seventeen, bein' my
own big an' bad man, and decided I didn't
wanna hang around cow-ridden Nebraska for
the rest of my life, so I applied to M.I.T.
Figured if I got accepted, I'd be near Jonah.
Found out he was living in this place called
Yarmouth, on Cape Cod. He lives in Boston
now, married with two kids."

"He's older?"

"Younger, by three years."

"You got accepted to M.I.T.?"

"Got accepted, check; full scholarship. Not
bad for a hayseed punk from a totally
dysfunctional family." Margot patted his hand,
and that was all the encouragement he needed to
continue. "My second year at M.I.T.'s ORC
Graduate Studies for my Doctorate in Applied
Statistics and Computer Sciences, I mostly got
treated like garbage. I bring out the nastiness
in people."

"Present company included?"

"You wanna be," he said like an arbiter, and
squeezed her harder than he'd intended.

"Not if I can help it." She bumped his right
leg with her left, paying him back with the
way she laughed; all giddy and light. "You're
not bringing out the nastiness in me, quite
the opposite effect..."

"You like me?" he blurted, wondering when he'd
decided to get bold and be so 'loser' at the
same time. Only an irredeemable loser came
right out and asked all needy-sounding like
that. Hell, after what he'd told her, what was
there to like? It wasn't like him to spill so,
detailing wherein his pain lay, but before he
could stop himself, he was telling her just about
everything behind his mad at the world mentality.

Her supple body pressed against his, the way she
was rubbing his thumb, and the funny way she put
things to him, had a lot to do with it, he
figured.

"I like you," she answered without a hiccup of
hesitation. Letting a beat go by, she called
him out. "What about me? Do you like me?"

He did, more than he ever thought liking someone
could happen this fast. But, not wanting it to
sound like an EAS public service announcement,
he said evenly, "I sorta do..."

"Okay, with those hurdles out of the way, would
you go on with the rest of your life," she said,
quick on the draw. "This has all the makings
of a budding friendship."

"You wanna be my pal?"

"Depends..."

"Depends on what?"

"You 'wanna' be mine?" This time when he
squeezed her middle, he didn't ease up on the
pressure, not until she reminded him that
breathing was important to her. "I'll take
that as a 'yes.'"

Langly was silent for a long time, afloat in
some very nice vibes, before he said, "What did
you mean before when you said you, 'know the
feeling?' What feeling is that?"

"I know that shuttling, of which you speak, all
too well, love. My parents were killed in an
auto accident when I was quite young."

"How young?"

"I'd just turned four, as I've been told. Me
mum and dah took off for a romantic picnic in
the countryside to celebrate my father's
new promotion. I'd been left with a maiden
aunt. By nightfall, I was an orphan. A drunk
driver..." Langly cringed. She paused
thoughtfully. "It was a freak accident."

"Only freaks drive drunk, I should know," he
said, sounding hard-bitten. He closed his eyes
for a moment. "Drunk driver?" She nodded
briefly. "The idiot. I'm sorry...real sorry
about your folks."

"Thank you, love, but what is one to do? I
never knew them. I grew up being passed
amongst one relative to the next. Funny old
life, as my dear Uncle Rupert is wont to
spout. 'What cannot be controlled takes its
toll,' more times than not."

"That taking its toll part... You make that
up?"

"No, I'm not the philosopher. That's my Uncle
Rupert's job."

"Uncle Rupert. He mostly raise you?"

"On and off, but another time about him.
We're not off the subject of you, yet. Now,
where were we?"

"I forget."

"Oh, I know...being your own man, I believe,
under the subheading of life and times at M.I.T."

"Oh, yeah...M.I.T."

They held each other's gaze in the mirror for
a long time before Langly got going again,
giving her earfuls of what made him tick.

By five-thirty, both were fast asleep, Langly
hugging her as though for dear life, and she,
up to her eyeballs in his thinning hair,
breathing calmly, without a snuffle, or a
hitch of there being an asthmatic problem.

||oo||

5:45 A.M.

Max got out of the midnight blue Volkswagen
'punchbuggie,' across the street from Mulder's
building, knowing exactly where Margot was.
He stood in the middle of the road as though
transfixxed, sensing her pulse strong and
rhythmic, pulsating with its usual vigor.

His analysis swift, and concluded, he was
just about to advance on the apartment complex,
when from out of seemingly nowhere, a laundry
truck bore down on him, doing eighty-five.

Before the 'sensor' could spring back, out
of harm's way, he was struck, his body sent
sprawling when he landed hard. The truck never
even slowed down. He lay there for several
seconds, far from dead, not a spot of blood on
him anywhere, but unable to get up right away
to get Margot, his prime objective.

Instead, he dragged his crippled but functional
body over to his severed arm which had been
torn away from the shoulder. Seizing it, he
stuffed the artifical limb into his leather,
double-breasted overcoat, then dragged himself
back to the 'beetle.'

Fifteen minutes later, he peeled away from the
curb with one badly shaking hand on the steering
wheel.

||oo||

6:59 A.M.

"Well, well..." The clip in the ribs Frohike
gave Byers was not subtle. "Well. What a
cozy, nauseating little scene this is." He
wished it was he, instead of the blond
'wunderkin.' He was the one with all the
charisma.

"Strange," Byers muttered, looking just as
thoughtful, but for an entirely different
reason. They ventured nearer, curiosity
governing them both. "I didn't get the
impression that she'd be the type of woman
who would sleep with a man she hardly knows."

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't HER idea. He probably
whined, gave her his tired sob story about
being a virgin, she'd be his first, and she
caved for mercy sex." Frohike sniffed, then
continued, "Mercy sex is better than no sex
at all, and a whole lot better than Whiskey
Tangs a la assembly line style."

"Still, I just didn't think she was the type."

"Takes two to tango, buddy." He had flavored
the retort with just the right amount of
sanguine.

Byers wrinkled his sunburnt nose with its
plethora of new freckles. One visit to the
beach for his first time this summer was all
it took. "Come on, let's go out. This time
we'll knock instead of barging in. Give them
time to make themselves presentable."

"YOU go out and come in again. I'm gonna mess
with Blondie." Frohike sauntered over to the
bed, and after giving Byers a saucy wink, bent
over Langly's ear. In a salacious, feminine-
sounding voice, he whispered, "Ooooh, baby,
oooooh, baby. Oooooh. You're such a stud...
Can't get enough of you, butterbuns." He clamped
his hand over his mouth, but splitting his sides
was a real possibility. Byers was waving him
off, wanting him to stop. In no way going to
comply, Frohike brought his face close to Langly's
ear again, and breathily urged, "C'mon, gimme more
of what ya got, lover..." Softly, he blew into
his friend's milky white ear, and an unexpected
result was achieved.

"FROhike, you are incorrigible," Byers whisper-
hissed. "Stop that," he pleaded, although he
could see his appeal was falling on stubbornly
deaf ears. "You're embarrassing yourself,"
and then he added, "and me."

"This is fun..."

It wasn't Langly who had begun to stir, rather,
it was Margot. Her face rested comfortably
upon his chest, doubling as her pillow. Not
fully awake, she scooted up nearer to the
comatose face and buried hers into the niche
of his inviting neck, her hand rested over
his nipple. She sighed sleepily after yawning
with eyes still closed.

"God, she looks like an angel like that,"
Frohike remarked, sounding reverent. "She's
got one hell of a kisser, what a beaut.
Figures he's the one who got lucky, even
though she called *me* 'darling.' Hippie boy
attracts the chicks, whether he believes it
or not."

Byers 'humphred.' "Sour grapes, Frohike?"

"Sour nuts."

"He's lonely, sometimes. He wants somebody.
Hell, we all do."

"Looks like he's found somebody." With some
killer of a body, Frohike vented to himself.

The shutting of the door behind them awakened
Langly with a start. He eyeballed the mirror,
shocked to see she was lying right on top of
him. The placement of her hand where it was
quickened his pulse. This was the stuff many
of his more passionate fantasies were made of.

Stirring with listing-like motion, she woke then
too, looking more alert than he, but that lasted
only for a moment. "Morning, love." She smiled
at him, squelching a waking yawn.

"Hey."

"Hey..."

"Sleep okay?"

"Perfectly." She snuggled into his chest some
more, and kissing her forehead seemed the way
to go. Lightly, she began stroking his left
pect.

Somehow, this felt right, he thought, not fully
convinced that he wasn't still dreaming. "You
weren't just bein' nice to me, were you?"

"Nice about what?"

"Not borin' ya?"

"No--meant every word. You didn't bore me."
He worked a more convincing smile on her
then, mining his brain for something memorable
to say. "To be sure, you don't. As I said
before, you're a smasher," she reiterated.

Lightly, his fingers started describing
invisible patterns on her cheek, her chin
resting in-between his pects. "Thought I heard
somethin'...the door maybe..."

"You did?" she said, lazily, blinking, and
closed her eyes. They sprang open when she felt
him move to check his watch. When he realized he
wasn't wearing his glasses, he reached for them,
but before he had them, Margot was fitting them
into place on his face.

"It's seven. The guys are gonna be here any
second now." He shifted, but Margot held her
position, pinned to his chest. "Hey, like what
gives?"

"I'm hoping not you, not just yet. You're an
excellent pillow, so much better than any goose
down variety. You're deliciously soft, and
pleasantly cuddly in all the right spots." Her
relaxed sigh made him a little tense. "Perfect."

"Well, I'm just sayin' we better make a move
before 'Hike and Bye' show up." Mulder had told
them about the key being under the mat right
along with him. "Won't even knock, when they
don't see the key where it usually is. Just
break in here with our lock picker and draw
stupid conclusions. They so like doin' that."

"And what sort of 'stupid conclusions' do you
think they'd draw if they saw us like this?"
Margot tickled, with an arch of her stencil-like
eyebrow. So what if they did, she thought,
looking smug about it.

Langly gave a short, sharp laugh. "C'mon, you
know what they'd think...us like this, barely
dressed, okay, so me more na-naked than you,
and on each other."

"Yes?"

He eyed her pointedly, with a candor she was
beginning to look for, liking, as much as she
did his unworldiness, which was turning out
to be irresistable. "We've got nookie written
all over us."

"Really? Where?"

"Stop goofin'. I know that's what I'd think
if it was, let's say, Byers and you here like
this."

"But I'm not with him, I'm with you, and we
haven't done anything x-rated." At least,
not yet, she racily thought, and then wondered
if she should voice that. She decided against,
seeing the apprehension that had set sail on his
face. She lifted her head, smiling into his
ambiguous blue eyes, that seemed to hold a
wreathe of surprise, and a suggestion of promise.
She edged closer to his face, and kissed the
oversized frame of his eyeglasses. "I'm glad
it's you I'm with. You make me feel safe..."

"I--I do?" he said, looking several beats behind
music he'd never heard before.

"You do," she said, and returned to nuzzling the
tender valley of flesh between his nipples with
her lips.

"Ma-Mar--oh, God!" His eyes banged shut, with
his involuntary shuddering.

The speeding rush had taken him with such force,
that talking was now a chore. Her lips were
munching and tasting him on their way to his
mouth by way of the scenic route.

"Are you all right, darling?" she breathed at
the base of his neck, bringing her full weight
of her body down on his, with his wildly
responding.

He was sizzling, a dip in the Potomac would be
only gradual relief the way he was now. While
hormonal fire in his blood frenzied his brain,
and vestiges of resolve were lanced by lust,
he fought to say, "Ca-can't we..." Another
powerful shudder electrified him, and he groaned,
"Ta-talk, talk about this fi-first?"

"Later," Margot ground into the side of his
warm cheek, her lips greedily seeking his,
"after...after..." The rest was gutteral
and unintelligible.

His wilder side clubbed him with, "SHUT-UP,
YOU PUTZ! LET HER DO THIS FOR YOU--LET HER DO
WHATEVER THE HELL SHE WANTS TO WITH YOU--SHE'LL
MAKE A MAN OUTTA YA--THIS IS IT--"

'I *AM* a man, dammit," Langly yelled at himself
internally.

"You're such a beautiful man," she told him,
as she unsnapped the snap, which had too much
give, of his jeans with a practiced hand.
Backtracking, she licked his nipple, and Langly
convulsed.

"Ma-Ma-Marg--oh. NO!" Persuasive, but firm
hands captured the busy one, and she stopped,
feeling them trembling around hers, which only
made her want him more. ....You're the biggest
jerk goin', his libido maligned.... Ignoring
himself, and looking miserable, he said, "I-It's
not you--i-it's me. I, I d-don't want it like
this..."

"Anyway you want it then," she cooed close to
his ear, driving chills up and down his spine.

Leaning up on his elbows, Langly waited for his
breath to catch up with the rest of him. "I'm,
I'm so screwed-up," he bleated. Measuredly, she
brought her mouth up close to his lips, and them
tenderly, to coincide with the several sharp raps
upon the front door suddenly. "I-It's the guys,"
he breathed against her lips, sounding as though
he'd been given a reprieve.

"Punctual chaps," Margot replied disagreeably.

"I gotta go."

"By all means then. Don't keep them waiting."
She sat up cross-legged, and propped her chin
up with her hands, watching him leave the room
like he couldn't get out fast enough. "It
would have been heaven," she called out after
him.

The banging on the door reverberated dully,
fairly bouncing off the anteway's walls.
Muffled voices demanding admittance could be
heard between the thuds.

He made a quick detour to the living room to
don his carefully folded T-shirt from the
coffee table. He re-snapped his jeans. "Cool
it--" Langly flung irately at the door, kicking
it once he'd arrived to let his partners in.
"Break it down, and Mulder will have your asses."
The pounding intensified.

"Hey--what took you so long, man?" Frohike
accused, charging in once Langly had opened
up, Byers right on his heels. "Had second
helpings?" he baited, wanting to fan Langly's
disposition.

"Good morning, Ringo," Byers said, his eyes
twinkling, with a playful smile on his face.
Langly did a double take when Byers winked at
him.

"'Bout time you two got here," Langly bounced
off them.

"Where's the pretty lady?" Frohike asked, all
aglow with inquisitiveness.

"In there," Langly said, indicating the bedroom
with a cant of his head.

"Yeah, the bedroom," Frohike said, risquely.
To have been a fly on the wall last night, he
thought.

Langly, minutes away from a spectacular
detonation, was interrupted by his 'tweeded'
friend.

"As a matter of fact," Byers plugged in, "we do,
'got breakfast.'" The 'suit and tie' headed for
the kitchen. "It's still fairly warm." He
advised Langly with intentional looks that he
should come with him quickly before Frohike had
the chance to pester him about what he considered
an extremely personal thing.

Frohike, frowned, but went to Mulder's worktable
to set their portable technologic arsenal down.
"You can tell me all about it later," he hounded
before Langly disappeared into the kitchen with
Byers.

"Wha'cha get?" Langly asked as Byers put the
take-out bags down on the smudgy kitchen table.

"Not MacDonald's, if that's what you're hoping,"
Byers replied.

"Yo, man, Mickey Dee's not the only place I like,
ya know. 'Sides, wrong bag." One deep-lunged
whiff told Langly what he needed to know. "Oh,
yeah, now you're talkin'--Beaverton's Country
Pantry!" Langly clapped Byers soundly on the back.
"Now this *is* serious." The eatery being his
second favorite place to pig-out at. "Whatcha get
me?"

"See for yourself."

"Well, I'm wishing it's..." The eager man tore
open the styrofoam container Byers was hinting
at that he should. "Yes, yes yes. YES!"

If this is what it takes to please him like this,
Byers thought, maybe I'll make a special effort
to bring steak, eggs and the pancakes at least
once a week for him.... However, he thought on,
there might be another reason he's so upbeat this
morning...one about five-foot whatever, with
piercing blue eyes...dewy skin like bone china...

Snapping out of it, Byers said, "I concede, you
do your best work on a contented full stomach."

"Do Klingons have an aggressive nature?"

"Now how the hell's Byers gonna know something
vital like that?" Frohike tossed at them as
he came into the kitchen, rubbing his fingerless
gloved hands together. "Where's my grub, John?"

Langly was already scarfing down another piece
of toast and more eggs. Byers handed Frohike
his order, then began looking after his own.

"How's she doin' after last night?" Frohike
wanted to know, his mouth crunching a piece of
bacon, and wearing a grin that indicated he
wasn't about to let a Langly with his 'first'
under his belt, lie.